Revival

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “Left hand,” I said holding out my hand, but pulled back before she could touch me. “Between your legs.”

  She groaned and rolled her eyes. I grinned salaciously. Did I care about frustrating her? No. Did I care about denying her what she wanted? No. I wanted her to want, to pine, to crave like I did. I wanted her to beg for it like she’d have me do if I let her.

  Her hand began to move unevenly between her legs.

  “Slower.”

  She breathed out heavily through her nose and slowed down. A low, muffled mewl left her and her stomach tightened as her hips bucked and rolled, trying to find a rhythm.

  “Stop.”

  She stopped still, her head laid back on the headrest, and turned to face me. I caught her driver’s eye in the rear-view.

  “Maybe you should record it,” I laughed, watching him turn a deep red and returning his eyes to the road. Charlie was the same shade when I turned back to her. “Turn and face me.”

  She shifted lengthways with her hand still between her legs.

  It was like a game of Simon Says; she was hanging on my every word and her desperate cries filled me with triumph. As she whimpered with frustrated tremors that rippled through her body, I was the one in control.

  She began moving her hand again, crashing her back against the window.

  “I said stop,” I smacked the inside of her knee and her leg dropped to the floor, opening her up to me. I gripped her legs and she moved her hand in time for me to dip my head and tease her with light, ghosting licks. She lifted her hips, panting for more but I held her still, lapping at her entrance, intoxicated by the musky scent and sweet taste of her. I sat back when I felt her clit swell against my tongue.

  “Again. Left hand.”

  I wanted her squirming. I wanted her so close to release she saw stars. I sat back and watched, unzipping my trousers, and began to stroke the length of my cock. She circled and rubbed frantically, desperately trying to find the spot that would make her explode. All I could do was smile when she couldn’t and her body tensed further with her impatience. She writhed on the seat, the leather squeaking as the sweat collected on her body and the slick heat between her legs dripped from her. I brushed her hair away from her face and she nuzzled into my hand. It was the only time she showed me affection; she knew I wanted it and she only gave me what I wanted in the throes of ecstasy, under my thumb and desperate to come. I didn’t want it tonight. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to hurt like I did, until I decided she’d had enough. I pulled my hand away and sat back, letting her watch as I stroked and squeezed until my cock turned red, swelled, and my balls drew up tight. I pulled the underwear from her mouth and she gasped as she caught her breath.

  “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Who’s in control?”

  “You. Always you.” She cried out as I pulled her forward, replacing her hand with my throbbing dick. “Please, please make me come.”

  “Please…?” I stopped all movements, so close to being inside her a simple shift would have me delving in deep.

  “Please, Cut Throat.”

  I slid through her drenched folds, instantly slamming my balls against her ass. She screamed a garbled cry of pent up pleasure and clenched around me as she came. She clawed at my shirt, bucking and trembling. I closed my eyes and spilled myself into her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Remember what I said about fucking to forget? I was wrong. The more I fucked, the more I remembered, the worse I felt. There was no escape. There was no way out.

  September 18th, 2010

  I was confused. I was conflicted. I was so full of hatred, I shut everything out. I didn’t smell, I didn’t taste, I didn’t hear, I didn’t feel. I fucked Charlie until her senses were so jacked she had no energy to try and control me. I lived to be a machine; to make her rich – richer – and I took nothing for myself. She loved the aggression, she craved it. She loved the fingerprints and handprints. She loved the passion she thought she’d won from me. She hadn’t won, I’d just lost more of myself. That control, that nerve, that composure I’d tried for so long to keep, was failing. I could feel it slipping away with each tick of the clock, and it was taking my sanity with it.

  “Where has this come from?”

  I was lying on Charlie’s bed, trying to muster up enough energy to get up and leave. I wasn’t moving; I was breathing slowly, watching her in front of the mirror and waiting for the weight of the world to lift from the bed and allow me to get up. I watched her admire the scratch marks on her stomach and lifted one hand, slowly, to look at my fingernails. The fingernails of a man who had just marked a woman. I let my arm drop to my side and wondered what had fucked Charlie up so much that she’d turned out the way she had. Power hungry, greedy, completely oblivious to the mindless screws I participated in that left her branded. I wanted to shake my head, I wanted to ask for her story, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to get out.

  I didn’t answer her. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of my breathing, concentrating on the beating of my heart, the slowing of my pulse and the air entering and leaving my lungs as my chest rose and fell.

  I could have let Charlie believe she had won. I could have lied and told her she’d unleashed a beast, but I couldn’t. I was desperate to tell her the truth, but I just couldn’t.

  Skye. All my anger, all the pain of wanting to consume her like the man she was at the party with was taken out on Charlie. The animal had returned; the animal who wanted to crawl inside Skye Jones and smother her until there was no way out. It was all I’d ever wanted. To own her and allow her to own me. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t think about her, or dream about her; dreams of her in my arms, stroking my hair as we fell asleep. Her laugh, genuine and unrestrained; it hurt like a searing dagger to the chest to know I’d never make her laugh again. Her eyes, glistening with warmth and vulnerability and bravery; the fight to overcome everything life had thrown at her evident in those glittering orbs. I replayed the day I made her leave over and over again. She loved me. She loved me and I wouldn’t let her. I wanted to be loved, to be protected in the arms of the woman created only for me. I wanted Skye; I’d never wanted, needed, someone like I needed her and there would never be another who made me feel like she did. Like somebody.

  But if I didn’t deserve her when I had the chance to make her mine, I sure as hell didn’t deserve her now. I was a monster. That had never been truer than when I looked at Charlie and what I had done to her; what we did to each other.

  “I asked you a question.”

  I opened my eyes and searched for her. She was sitting on the bed next to me, naked and waiting for the answer to whatever question she had asked me.

  “Yes?” I answered, hoping it was the right answer.

  She frowned and clenched her jaw. It wasn’t the right answer.

  “What was the question?”

  “I asked if you’re ready for tonight.”

  “What’s happening tonight?”

  I didn’t get any orders today.

  “Dinner at Daddy’s.”

  I sat up. I suddenly had all my energy back in the right place; my legs. I needed to run out of there.

  “I’m not going for dinner with your parents.”

  “Yes you are. Daddy needs to get off my case about finding a man.”

  I threw the duvet back and climbed out of bed, searching the room for my clothes and pulling each piece on as I found it.

  “You’ve got a man,” I hissed, pulling my shirt on.

  “Exactly. I need my father to see you. He’s not buying the excuses anymore.”

  I rolled my eyes and shoved my hands in my pockets.

  “What’s in it for me?” I turned to her, “What do I get for going to your parents’ house and pretending to be the devoted boyfriend just to keep your cover?”

  “No pretending, baby.” S
he crawled across the bed towards me. “You’re my man and I want you to meet my parents.”

  I felt sick. I didn’t do parents. I didn’t buy any of it. She knew where my weaknesses were and she was exploiting them, making me crave something that terrified me, making me want something that I didn’t want with her. She was playing her own damn game and I lacked the intelligence to play along.

  “No games?” I asked. I could pretend I’d fallen for it. Our entire relationship was based on lies.

  Charlie reached out, grabbed my waistband and pulled me towards her. She leaned up and began buttoning up my shirt.

  “No games. Just dinner.”

  I nodded. What choice did I have?

  ***

  I drove us to Charlie’s parents’ house, just outside Sussex. I didn’t trust myself to drink around strangers and not turn into the brawling kid from the wrong side of the tracks. I’d never met a girl’s parents before. Skye’s mother didn’t count – I couldn’t even think about it without wanting to turn the car around and go and find the Skillet. Charlie and I were screwed up; I didn’t kid myself into thinking we had any sort of healthy relationship, but as usual, I had a role to play and I couldn’t screw it up.

  The hour-long drive was silent. I thought about how the poor boy from a shithole town in Kent was supposed to impress Andrew George Tattersell, the owner of some internet security company. Ironic, huh? Charlie was hacking into the bank accounts of rich people across the capital and her father was being paid – while clearly failing – to protect them.

  Charlie sat in silence, only offering words of direction so we weren’t late. There was no doubt in my mind that she was planning or scheming. Charlie’s mind was never clear and certainly never innocent. I didn’t trust her.

  Her plan to bleed Nina dry had failed. Nina Bertolli was a smart woman and Charlie couldn’t get past her firewall. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out how and she’d go back for more, like the pound-sucking leech she was. But for now, she was Nina’s shoulder to cry on and she took great pleasure in seeing the devastation as Nina realised that someone in her circle was trying to take her money, never once suspecting Charlie. They were cut from the same cloth. Why would one rich girl steal from another?

  Power. A hunger Charlie was so damn good at hiding.

  “Next house on the left.”

  I turned the car into a gated entrance, turning to look at Charlie as the gates slowly opened. She looked nervous, as much as an emotionally detached person could. I pursed my lips and ignored the uneasy feeling in my gut as I drove along the driveway until the house emerged from behind the trees.

  “What role am I playing tonight?” I asked as we climbed out of the car.

  “Stop it.” She glared over the bonnet at me and we met in the middle. “Now.”

  She grabbed my hand and turned towards the house with a butter-wouldn’t-melt, million pound smile on her face. I had no idea what mask I was supposed to wear. I had no idea what to do in this situation. Charlie kept her hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze as she fell a step behind me and allowed me to lead.

  Andrew George Tattersell stood on the porch with a welcoming smile as we approached. I should have asked Charlie how I was supposed to address him. I squeezed her hand harder as we got closer to her father; my hands began to sweat, my heart hammered and lodged in my throat and I was filled with an anxiety I had never felt before. No amount of fighting could have prepared me for this.

  “Charlie.”

  He opened his arms and she stepped into them, leaving me to stand awkwardly with my hands behind my back and trying to subtly wipe them on my trousers to get rid of the sweat.

  “Daddy.” She turned towards me and stretched her arm out, calling me into a weird three way hug. I kept my distance. “This is Curtis.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” I held my hand out and he took it firmly.

  “Andy. Nice to meet you Curtis. Come in, dinner is ready.”

  I had never felt more out of place in my life. The four of us sat at a table set for twelve, surrounded by gold and rich, dark colours, and money. Even under the double-height ceiling, I was suffocating. The gold-plated cutlery felt like lead in my hands and the crystal wine glasses, filled with expensive wine from God knew where, only proved that I was so out of place.

  “So what do you do, Curtis?” Andrew asked. I looked up from inspecting my reflection in my knife. I was half-expecting to grow an extra head – just in case anyone had any doubt that I was an imposter.

  “I’m an ex-fighter,” I answered, too honestly. It earned me a kick in the leg from Charlie sitting opposite me. “I own a sports management agency.”

  “That’s new to me. What does it involve?”

  Of course it was new to him – I’m sure the only sports the Tattersell’s had been exposed to were polo and croquet.

  “I really just supply the funds. We negotiate contracts, build branding, arrange endorsements and sponsorships; financial management, legal counsel, career and post-career planning, PR.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.” He eyed me sceptically.

  I was convinced he’d figured me out. The agency was what I wanted, but we all know I never got what I wanted. The agency was a front. It was a legitimate business, as much as one set up after just a month of ‘working’ for Charlie could be. I wanted to earn honest money, I wanted to be an honest man, but I employed someone on every level so I could sit in my office and take my orders from Charlie. I went to the odd meeting but I had to stay hidden. Phoenix Management was a cover; the perfect way to keep her money, and what she did to earn it, concealed. It was another way she controlled me; I got a little of what I wanted but Charlie held the reins and decided exactly how much was mine to claim.

  “It is,” I lied.

  “And the fighting?”

  “I’m done with that, sir.”

  “Andy,” he corrected. “Tell me about it.”

  His voice had an edge to it; it got my guard up and as Charlie and her mother looked up from their meals, I knew it was some sort of battle for dominance. Well shit. What had I gotten into?

  I shifted in my seat and tried to think of a way to tell the story that wouldn’t confirm, beyond reasonable doubt, that I was only a half-decent man.

  “My parents died when I was five. My aunt adopted me and wanted me to learn the art of discipline.”

  “So discipline is an art?”

  Jesus.

  “Yes. I believe it is.”

  He cocked a brow. He was mocking me, “Continue.”

  “I learned to box first, then picked up Jujitsu. When I got older, I helped run the gym I trained in and when it closed down I moved to London. I worked hard to learn the ropes so I could run my own business.”

  He nodded, half satisfied, and said nothing more as he lifted his wine glass to his lips and glared at me over the rim. What. The. Fuck.

  ***

  “Are you not coming in?” Charlie asked when I pulled up outside her place and waited for her to get out.

  “No,” I kept my eyes on the street ahead. If I looked at her, I’d crack. “Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want to be a part of it.”

  She opened her mouth to speak and I heard the giant suck of air she took, preparing to give me some verbal abuse. I turned my head and looked at her then.

  “Whatever you’re going to say, save it. I know you. You might fool everyone else but you can’t fool me. Goodnight, Cat.”

  Her mouth hung agape. There was nothing to say, she knew I was right. I gave her a few more seconds to come up with a smart comeback as I leaned over her and opened the door. She sighed, and I could see her going over her options, but she got out and leaned down. Then she spoke with the innocence of a child, but her words were as poisonous as the blood running through my veins.

  “You’re mine, Cut Throat Curtis.” She spat the words with disgust, like it was an audacity for her to stoop low enough to even say my name. “You’re like my vio
lin. Together we make beautiful music; we stun people into silence, capture them, blindside them. But I’m the one playing the strings…all it takes is a little pressure from me and you’ll break. I can break you, Curtis. Remember who you were before you climbed into the back of my car.”

  She slammed the door and I wasted no time pulling away. My tyres screeched on the tarmac and I looked in the rear-view to see her on the pavement laughing. I turned on the radio and turned AC/DC up high, just like I did when I was a kid trying to prove myself. I had no one to prove myself to now; I had no one in my corner cheering me on. All I had was a woman waiting for me to snap so she could bury me.

  I drove to the canal where I met Charlie and got out. I stood on the bridge, pulled out my phone and called the only person I had. I wasn’t sure if I even had him anymore, the man I left behind because it was too dangerous to let him in. I called the one person who had always cheered me on, no matter how much I put him through. I called Geoff.

  I didn’t remember the conversation; I knew I was falling, lost in that haze that was both familiar and completely alien. I knew I’d asked him to meet me and a short while later, as I stared out at the black depths of water beneath me, Geoff’s car pulled up behind mine.

  “Let’s go for a drink,” he said before I could speak.

  He opened the passenger door and I slumped into the car.

  I couldn’t look Geoff in the eye. We sat in the corner of a pub not far from the canal. The football highlights played on the TV at the far end of the room; a group of old men laughed as they played darts; there were three men, about my age, playing pool in another corner and the barmaid joked with her boss as they cleaned the counter and prepared to close.

  Geoff stared at me.

  I could feel him studying me, trying to work me out. He wouldn’t.

  He was a good man, an honest man, a noble man, and he thought he’d taught me to be one, too. I had failed him. He would never guess what I had done because he had no idea of the man I really was.